


Brothers

by lee_andrews



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Joker (2019)
Genre: Cicero being Cicero I guess, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, complete with creepy songs and a particular brand of humour, mentions of abuse, mentions of murders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:21:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24666790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lee_andrews/pseuds/lee_andrews
Summary: The Night Mother is mother to all! You will see. Maybe… maybe she’ll talk to you and Cicero will be free of the hate again… when the silence is broken.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	Brothers

Cicero was holding him and it did not feel strange at all. And why would it? He was his brother, after all; he must be, born under the watchful empty gaze of the Dread Father. Cicero was stroking his back, gently, nimble fingers finding tense nods in the muscles, pouring a little bit of magic into the body to relax them, just like Cicero had learnt while tending the Night Mother – soft, like a leaf on the morning breeze. Arthur was still, his arms hanging lifelessly on both sides of his body, face down in the jester’s motley. An onlooker might have wondered whether he drew breath at all, but Cicero could feel his heartbeat, scarily faint inside the skinny body. Silence was their number one enemy, and so Cicero talked. And talked. And talked. He hasn’t been that excited to talk to anyone for a long, long time.

“Nobody appreciates a good joke anymore. Everybody is too busy being alive these days, with their wars and allegiances and honour. Cicero knows the price of their honour, he does! The price of their honour is a sour face like you’ve eaten half a barrel of pickles. And war might have death, but it's not a funny one, it doesn’t have the right tune. Now you see, the tune there is rainbow and rainbow is not funny, oh no! But surely Cicero does not have to explain this to _you_ ”, the jester smiled and for the first time, felt Arthur nod a little. A tiny, barely felt movement, but it was all Cicero needed to know. He _was_ his brother. At last.

“Now, Cicero would have never thought he had such talent for jokes before. How ignorant of me, oh yes! You see, Cicero thought that it was all vain, unimportant and even… despicable. Just like the rest of them…” his voice dropped dangerously low and with great contempt he uttered. “Morons.” And then, returning to his usual cheerful self, he continued. “Cicero was lucky to have a great teacher, of course. You would have liked him, I’m sure! Oh how he laughed and laughed! He wallowed in his own blood, drawing obscene figures on the floor with it while he was being cut open. That contract was no simple murder, you see, it was a masterpiece of poor old Cicero. And then he stopped laughing, choking on his blood one last time. Such beautiful crimson, just like this motley,” Cicero said dreamily. “Eventually he made me see. Always posing as different people, putting on masks and making deaths match their existence, oh isn’t that comedy? Isn’t that the true work of a jester? But they all only get what they deserve! Nobody is innocent in the eyes of the Dread Father.” Cicero heard Arthur laugh into his chest, just one lengthy “Ha”, but it sounded like the most beautiful music. It made him laugh too.

“Oh but Cicero did not get his laughter from the jester. No, Mother gave me the laughter, you see.” Arthur’s body stiffened, suddenly completely still, even his heartbeat seemed to stop. It scared Cicero, but he had to talk, he couldn't let it be, he hasn’t told the whole truth of this story to anyone. Not even his diary. “Cicero was lonely and forgotten. He hurt, oh he hurt so much! The silence, it killed him. It had gotten to his heart, the silence, its raging cold fingers squeezing the heart, making the blood stand still. The Mother never spoke.” Cicero felt Arthur tremble and the jester knew that he hurt too, but the words just kept coming on its own. “All lowly Cicero was ever worthy of was silence! He should have welcomed it like a diligent child, but he hated it instead. Maybe that was why he was not good enough! Because he hated and hated and hated that which he loved the most! Oh, _the irony_.”

By now, Arthur was already shaking in a fit, his laughter horrifyingly close to near-death wheezing, and Cicero just held on to his brother, not daring to let go even a bit. He did not want him to feel ever as abandoned as Cicero had. Stroking Arthur’s green hair, he began to sing like a mother would when putting her child to sleep. “When I next meet my fair maid Nelly, I’ll plunge my knife into her belly… When I next meet her by the river, an arrow to the heart I’ll give her… And when she’s at the tavern drinking, I’ll have a poison flask a-clinking…” Little by little, the fit stopped. Arthur’s breathing went back to normal and Cicero could hear him mutter some words under his breath. The audacity of what those words suggested made Cicero’s eyes widen in horror.

“NO! No no no no no no no no! I… Cicero has learned to live with it. His hate means nothing, while his love means everything. Cicero hopes you’ll understand. The Night Mother is mother to all! You will see. Maybe… maybe she’ll talk to _you_ and Cicero will be free of the hate again… when the silence is broken. ...In your presence, Cicero can hear a tune, just like he used to hear the jester’s laughter before. You are special. Here, Cicero can show you.”

The jester was ready to lead that dance, but it was entirely unnecessary. Arthur knew exactly what the steps were. The two moved in unison, still clinging to each other, as if they were one body and, perhaps even more importantly, one soul. But the music could not go on forever, alas. Once they’d stopped, Cicero pulled away just a little to finally see Arthur’s face. Much of the paint rubbed off on the jester’s motley, but in spite of that Arthur looked resolute, like a man in his element at last, like a man who has come all the way for his heart’s deepest desire and Cicero felt the silence in his head withdraw almost entirely, staying at the back of his head like an annoying opposite of the fly’s buzz. There was yet hope for both of them. The jester reached for a nightshade flower in his pocket, it was crumpled a little, but still so pretty. He put it in Arthur’s green hair, the colours a perfect complement. At that, Cicero could not help but smile his most charming smile.

“Let’s kill someone.”


End file.
